


The Fail-Safe

by leahholmes12



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Badass Marta, Daddy Kink, Dark Ransom - Freeform, Dark Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Innocent Marta, Kinky Ransom, Mental Instability, Pregnancy, Prison, Prison Ransom, Ransom Drysdale Being an Asshole, Ransom being a pig, Virgin Marta, condom tampering, mental health, mentions of piss play, single mother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22318906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leahholmes12/pseuds/leahholmes12
Summary: Like any good villain, Ransom has a fail-safe. Surely Marta wouldn't turn her back on the father of her child?** Update Coming soon!!!WARNINGS:- Ransom is a pig- Ransom tampers with a condom without consent.
Relationships: Marta Cabrera/Ransom Drysdale
Comments: 34
Kudos: 248





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Might make this into a short, multi-chapter fic? One where Ransom grapples with being a father? Let me know what you think.

Like any good villain, Ransom has a fail-safe. 

On the off chance that Marta can escape the slayer rule, he needs a way to ensure his fortune. He could never live without his Gucci sweaters, imported beer, and PornHub Premium subscription. More importantly, he could never be bothered to leave his bed before 9:30AM to attend a job. The life he is destined to lead is one full of luxury and empty of humility. 

His parents must be so disappointed to see his Ivy League, civil engineering degree go to waste. Or maybe it’s affirmation to them that he’s actually somewhat intelligent. For now, it’s a framed piece of paper gathering dust in his attic. Perhaps he should hang it up. It would serve as a nice reminder of the four years he spent drunk, high, and solving physics problems. 

Ransom’s back up plan is risky, that’s for damn fucking sure. The internet says there’s only a 15-25% chance that it could succeed, but Ransom likes to think he has taken measures to help with that. Turns out Google knows more about sex and pregnancy than the former playboy of Harvard does. 

His entire fucking future depends on the next 48 hours going according to his scheme, and that’s enough to cause Ransom to start panicking. He desperately needs something to hold onto. He needs hope that he won’t kiss his perfect, leisurely life goodbye forever. For now, Ransom’s hope is in Marta’s good and pure heart. Surely she wouldn’t turn her back on the father of her child, would she? 

To be completely honest, Ransom has wondered what it would be like to bed his grandfather’s Colombian nurse. In the abstract sense, of course. Marta isn’t Ransom’s type - too innocent, pure, and good. He usually prefers women who can hold their liquor at nightly parties, smoke a cigar with the boys, and wear skirts that barely cover their ass. But every once in a while, he likes a palate cleanser. Marta neatly falls into that category. Maybe she can help reset his current taste in being called daddy? Maybe she can help cure him of his financial domination kink, too. That would probably be for the better, since he might be going through a tough financial situation. 

Sexual thoughts aside, Ransom sees a kindness in Marta that he hasn’t seen before. She genuinely cares for Harlan, and she has never been anything but polite towards any of the Thrombey family. Hell, his own parents probably love her more than him. If he is successful in impregnating her, Marta certainly will be a wonderful, caring mom and nothing like how Linda was to Ransom. He imagines dropping by once a month, taking the kid for lunch, sleeping with Marta, and walking away with thousands of dollars to finance his personal life. Sure, sounds a little far-fetched, but Marta wouldn’t let her child’s father be homeless or starving. Every kid needs their father. 

Ransom is confident he can convince Marta to sleep with him. He already plans to try and get her alone, to start to plant the idea that he’s the good guy. He needs her to trust him completely. There can be no doubt that Hugh Ransom Drysdale is on her side. He’s certain that once his family learns that Marta is the sole heir to the Thrombey fortune, they’ll chase her out of the house. And Ransom will be there to sweep her into his strong arms. 

He is quick to leave his grandfather’s library after the will reading; he’d known the outcome for several days at this point. Joni is in tears, his mother is furious, and Uncle Walt takes ten minutes to fully process what had happened. It’s boring, and Ransom ducks out before the punches start rolling. His family is pathetic, the whole lot of them. The chaos allows him to slip out undetected and unapproached by the police. The dogs are thankfully inside, thus allowing peace, as Ransom yanks a cable free from the battery in Marta’s car. After the hood is closed, he gives it a good thunk with his fist. That will keep her from driving off alone. 

Ransom pushes his sunglasses back onto his nose, brushes his hands on his pants, and walks to his car. He slides behind the wheel, takes out the Juul he’d stolen from Meg, and takes a long, minty drag. After watching the vapor swirl away, he turns on the ignition and drives until he’s out of sight, down behind the statue. When he sees the flurry of his family following Marta out of the estate in his rearview mirror, he springs into action. It’s showtime. 

—————————

After Ransom realizes that Marta didn’t kill his grandfather, he knows he’s royally fucked. There’s no way she’ll be convicted, not after the blood results come through. She’ll be free to spend Harlan’s fortune, live in his home, and run his business while Ransom will be forced to sell his beautiful body to strangers. Or act in porn. Or actually use his college education. The damn horror! 

“I need to go get my car,” Marta finally says. She leans back against the bench of the booth, appearing exhausted. There is a definitive edge to her voice and her eyes are rimmed in red, which tells Ransom that she’s ready to be alone. He’s going to have to change that. His whole plan rests on his ability to get her home and in bed. Just the thought of Marta underneath him, moaning his name, is enough to stir his nether regions slightly.

Ransom nods and waves down the waitress for their bill. He quickly slips his platinum credit card into her hand, not even bothering to look at the total. It’s a total power play, one that he often enjoys. Looking at the check before paying is for people insecure in their bank accounts. For now, the million in his checking account will be sufficient. “I’ll take you home as soon as we finish up here, Marta.”

“Thanks,” she sighs. “I’m so tired. I could sleep for days.”

He chuckles. “I’ll look at your car and send you on your way soon enough.” To test the waters, he reaches over and squeezes her hand. 

Marta furrows her brow and immediately withdraws her hand from Ransom’s reach. “Why are you being so nice to me?” 

Thankfully, the waitress returns for Ransom’s signature before he has to answer that. He quickly fills out the tab, careful to be sure Marta sees him generously tip, and signs his name with a flourish. It takes another moment to exaggerate putting the card back into his wallet amongst it’s friends. Three or so minutes pass before Ransom starts to feel annoyed at the question hanging between them, so he carefully considers his next response. 

“I’m always this way,” he nonchalantly says. “My family tends to bring out the worst in me, which is all you are subjected to.” That sounds pretty good and authentic. And mostly, kinda, true. 

Marta buys it with a small nod. 

The pair exit the restaurant and are soon off on the next leg of the trip. This part is absolutely crucial in Ransom’s plan; this is his last chance to woo Marta into his arms. It’s stressful. He keeps the conversation centered around her - asking about her hobbies, family, and her life back in Columbia. He honestly doesn’t give a flying shit about any of it, but he hopes that his asking helps improve his chances. Maybe he’ll appear sincere? It’s worth a try. Ransom won’t have to remember any of it, so he nods his head, asks generic questions, and drives towards the estate. His mind is reeling as he desperately tries to think of a solid plan of attack. So far, she seems into him. But what’s going to happen when he tries to kiss her later that evening? Is he confident that she won’t reject him?

After ten minutes into the drive, Marta seems significantly more relaxed. She’s leaning back in the seat, telling him some story about nursing school. He nods like he’s listening. But really, Ransom is trying to figure out if he should try and touch her again. He fears that a second rejection would completely blow the whole operation, but he needs to know if he should even try to push things further. 

Ransom tells her that he’s going to stop off at his house to grab a few tools, just in case they need them to fix her car. He assures her that it’s only a five minute detour away from the estate, and that he won’t be keeping her out too much past curfew. She chuckles a little at his lame attempt at a joke, which actually is a lot of relief on his part. From her response, he thinks things might have recovered from the small setback earlier. Ransom hates that he has to sensor his words; he’s used to spitting out whatever comes to mind without wondering if he’d hurt anyone’s feelings. 

When they start to turn down his street, Ransom turns on the charm to try and seal the deal. He reaches for Marta’s hand, careful not to touch her inappropriately anywhere else. She stiffens at first before letting her hand melt into his. Success. He rubs the back of her hand with his thumb, and she visibly relaxes. 

“You act like you don’t care that I’m a murderer,” Marta abruptly says, breaking their comfortable stream of light conversation. “I wouldn’t even speak to someone if I thought they’d killed someone.” 

It’s quite the change, so much that Ransom wonders if she’s catching on that something is amiss. Ransom anxiously glances over at her. She stares straight ahead, hand still loosely holding his. Marta hasn’t let go, thus signaling that she isn’t completely aware of anything. Perhaps she’s genuinely asking? Ransom carefully considers his next reply. It’s stressful having to analyze everything she says. He hates wondering about someone else’s feelings. “You aren’t. You just made a mistake, and shit, I’m going to help you fix it.”

Marta sighs in reply but doesn’t let go. In fact, he feels her tighten her grip just a little. It seems like he’d made the right choice of words, even though it’s honestly something he probably wouldn’t have said under different circumstances. 

Ransom turns down his driveway, the modern and sleek home coming into view. It’s probably worth more than twenty times that of whatever hovel Marta lives in.

It’s now or never, and Ransom’s more doubtful of his plan than ever. There had been a couple of mixed signals that had him second guessing his decision. Ransom could always just put all his eggs into Marta being convicted of murder, after all. It definitely wouldn’t give him grey hairs like this little idea. His heart beats quickly in his chest, like a hammer against cloth. He’s suddenly afraid his hand will start to sweat. He gives Marta’s hand one final squeeze before letting her go, lest his clammy hands scare her away. “Do you want to come in for a minute? Have a cup of coffee while I grab a few things?”

He watches her consider his question for a moment. Marta appears to ponder the question for a beat, perhaps looking for any red flags. He knows that she’s heard so many rumors about him from Harlan; Ransom only hopes that maybe she’s editing her view of him instead of reflecting on how he isn’t matching up to expectations. He’d tried so hard to appear the good boy that he fucking isn’t. She finally nods her head and reaches for her seatbelt. “My mother always did warn me about going into strangers’ homes, but I guess coffee makes it okay.” 

Ransom chuckles in a forced sort of way. “Good words of advice.” 

He lets himself out of the car, and then walks over to Marta. As a test of their relationship, he offers her his hand. 

She takes it. 

Another small victory, but a victory nonetheless. 

Ransom leads the way up to the front door, where he punches a code into the keypad. (He could never be bothered with a hard key.) When they step inside, the foyer lights blink on, illuminating Ransom’s extravagant entryway. The art hanging on his walls are worth probably more than Marta’s car, while their feet sink into the plush rug by the door. The glass shines without a single smudge, spilling light out into the surrounding woods. The architecture of his home is breathtaking, and he’s proud to say that he’d done most of it himself. 

Marta takes a few steps forward, into the home. The nurse’s eyes are as big as saucers as she takes it all in. Her fingertips trail along the top of his shoe hutch, brushing against a few of his jackets strewn about there. He cringes at the thought of all the dirt and grease that is now on his expensive clothes. But Ransom can’t blame her. She probably isn’t used to anything better than Goodwill. He would rather cut off his dick than have used anything. Pride swells in his chest as he watches her admiring his home. He slips off his jacket and throws it amongst its friends. 

Ransom takes the opportunity to take his eyes down her body. It’s hard to tell, but he begs for deep curves underneath all those layers. He hopes she’s shaved, that her breasts will fit into his hand, and that she’ll let him pull her hair and smack her ass. He likes it hard and rough, but he’d put money on it that Marta doesn’t. If she’s a virgin… he’s deflowered his fair share of women before. He knows how you have to be gentle at first, that a towel should be used to catch the blood, and how to comfort her through the pain. Suddenly, he starts to feel the rumblings of a boner again in his belly in preparation for the main event. 

That's when Ransom decides that it’s time. 

“Marta,” Ransom calls, snapping her out of her tacky ogling. You’d think that after working for Harlan for so long that she’d be accustomed to such luxury. 

She turns around to face him. “Yes?” 

He beckons her over to him with a hand gesture, to which she obliges. When she’s within a foot or two, Ransom moves for her hand. 

“What’s this about, Ransom?” Marta abruptly asks, jerking her hand out of his reach. 

Hugh, he thinks. Regardless, he can’t say that he didn’t see this coming. Marta is a smart girl; she has to know something is up. He thinks quickly and replies with, “What do you mean?”

Marta eyes him, clearly suspicious. “You’ve never spoken to me before, not kindly anyways. Now you’re helping me. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Ransom nervously laughs. “My family brings out the worst in me, as I said before.” He smiles at her in the way he knows girls like. She’ll fall at his feet soon enough, but he’s getting desperate. Marta can’t have any doubt that he’s being sincere. He needs her to rewrite her view of him. He needs to step up his game, and fast. 

“But I’ve always,” he takes a step forward, “wanted to do this to you.” And on a hastily made decision, Ransom kisses Marta. He brings his hand to her jaw, hoping it adds a little more passion. He wants her to feel like this is something he’s wanted for a while, that this is a love he’s harbored for years. Her lips are rough underneath his. God, surely she can afford a stick of chapstick? But at least her skin is soft under his palm. 

Marta stiffens at first, then she starts to kiss him back. Sweet relief pumps through his veins. 

They part, but Ransom keeps their faces close. He can feel her breath on his skin. This is where he pounces. 

He sighs, “I’ve wanted that for so long.”

“Oh?” Marta replies, clearly surprised. 

Ransom nods and pecks her lightly on the mouth. “Oh yes.” 

She blushes. “Secretly, I have too.” She rests her hand on his shoulder. Score, fucking score. Ransom is sure he has her where he wants her. 

Ransom allows his hand to glide down Marta’s neck, to her shoulder, down her arm, and to her the small of her back. He takes half a step forward so that their bodies are barely apart. She’s so tiny, he realizes. He could break her in two if he isn’t careful. And Hugh Ransom Drysdale is almost never careful. He bunches his fist, balling up a chuck of her sweater with it. 

“I want you, Marta,” Ransom whispers. “I want to make you mine.” 

She looks up into his eyes, searching for a trace of authenticity that probably isn’t there. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ransom kisses her cheek. Time to turn this up a notch. “I’ve wanted to be with you since the first time I saw you. You literally took my breath away. I just couldn’t act on it. My grandfather… he wouldn’t allow it. And after you’d seen how awful I am around my family, I didn’t think this would be happening.” 

“You’ve been so nice to me today…” 

“So let me make love to you,” Ransom says. “On the off chance that you get arrested, I want to be sure that I get at least one night with you.”

Marta’s eyes widen. “Ransom, I…” 

“Yes, baby?” he coos. He kisses her cheek in mock affection.

She blushes a deeper pink. “I’ve never been with anyone sexually before.”

Oh damn, he’s going to have to be gentle. Hopefully she’s one of those girls who’ve broken their hymen riding a bike or some shit. Ransom needs to pull a fistful of Marta’s hair while he takes her from behind, he needs to dominate her. He tries to let his disappointment not register on his face. 

“Oh,” Ransom replies. He presses his forehead to Marta’s, so close he can feel her breath on his lips. The lack of space adds a sense of intimacy, one he hopes he can capitalize on. “I would be honored to be your first, if you will let me.”

Marta kisses him this time. 

Ransom takes this as a yes, and slips his tongue between her lips. Marta appears to welcome it, and she winds her arms around his neck. Her body is stretched up to his height, so much that her sweater rides up her belly. Ransom takes this opportunity to place his hand on her bare skin, to feel the smooth skin and warmth that radiates from it. Marta shudders, clearly the first time anyone’s touched her there.

Ransom breaks the kiss. “Let’s go upstairs, princess.”

“Upstairs?” Marta asks. “Like, to your bedroom?” 

He chuckles a little. Her naivety is cute. “Would you rather me make love on the floor?”

Marta flushes again. She is clearly out of her element and uncomfortable. Ransom senses this, and he slips effortlessly into the role of the dominate. She needs someone to guide her through the experience. If Ransom is the one calling all of the shots, telling her exactly what to do, he might make this even more enjoyable than he’d imagined. In all of his fantasies, Marta had at least been a little less clueless on what to do. 

Ransom takes her hand gently in his. “Come, I’ll show you what to do.” He leads her up the stairs and down the hall to the master bedroom. He’d made the bed that morning and picked up all of the laundry, so it appears to have an illusion of cleanliness. The king sized bed is covered in a blue quilt, topped with a dozen pillows in every size and shape. The woods of his nightstands and dresser are dark to match the trunks of the trees outside of the windows. 

Marta wrings her hands out once they enter the room. Her eyes dart nervously from the bed, to the windows, to Ransom, and back. Standing just in front of her, Ransom tries to give her a reassuring smile. Gracefully, he slips his sweater off over his head and lets the garment fall to the floor. 

“Touch me,” Ransom gently commands. He takes Marta’s small hand in his own and places it back onto his shoulder. Ransom drags her hand down his torso, across his nipples, down his happy trail, to allow her to feel his bare skin. When they reach his lower belly, he releases Marta’s hand in favor of brushing his own fingers across her jaw. It’s a moment so tender that Ransom might actually believe that he’s in love with Marta. Sure, he’s pretended to love girls before, but it’s never been so fiercely convincing as it is now. The kiss that follows is light, a mere brush of lips. 

Ransom pushes Marta’s coat off of her shoulders so that it falls in a heap onto the floor. “Why don’t you take your clothes off, sweetheart?” 

Marta nods. “Sure, only if you do the same.”

And there’s the spice that he’d been hoping would come out. Ransom takes lead and pops open the fly of his pants. Soon, his designer jeans and Calvin Klein boxers lay crumpled beside his discarded sweater and Marta’s coat. His member is nearly fully hard now and his ego is inflated when Marta’s eyes go wide at the sight. Ransom likes to think that it’s the first cock the girl’s ever seen. 

Ransom sits on the edge of the bed to watch Marta disrobe. Her hands are shaky as she tugs her chunky sweater off, showing a very plain bra underneath. Ransom hadn’t expected Victoria’s Secret lingerie, but damn, he’d thought she could go a little better than Kmart. And thankfully, it appears that she does have some semblance of curves. At least she has that going for her. 

Like the bra, Ransom finds the size of her breasts to be a slight letdown. They appear to be smaller than what he’d prefer but they’ll do. His hand aches to give them a squeeze, to feel how her flesh molds around his grip. 

“Beautiful,” he encourages. “Take off the rest, baby.”

Marta pulls down her pants and her underwear in one motion, so Ransom unfortunately can’t comment on the quality of her panties. He’s sure that he’d be disappointed, if the bra was anything to judge by. Her ass is decently shaped, which sends a wave of pleasure down Ransom’s cock. It’ll make up for her breasts, for sure. She is decently shaved, not necessarily bare, but it’ll do. 

Ransom beckons Marta over to the bed. “You’re stunning.” 

“You aren’t so bad either,” she replies.  
I know, Ransom thinks. He knows he’s beautiful after being told it his entire life. 

He pulls Marta down onto his lap, where he kisses her passionately. She wraps her arms around his neck as she happily opens her mouth to his tongue. Ransom’s cock throbs from lack of attention, so he starts to grid up against her. The friction is delicious, and from the way Marta’s breathing picks she likes it too. Without breaking the kiss, he reaches between their bodies to position his cock so that it rubs against her clit. 

“Oh god,” Marta breathes, pulling away from Ransom’s mouth. A string of saliva obscenely connects their mouths. Ransom breaks it with a swipe of his tongue. 

Ransom flutters his hands to her hips so that he can push harder against her body. “You like this, princess?” 

“Yes.” Marta presses her face into the crook of his neck. When she bites down on the skin between his neck and shoulder, Ransom groans. This, he thinks, this is what I need. 

Ransom’s daddy kink kicks in. “Daddy’s gonna take good care of you, baby. Make you feel so fucking good.”

Marta moans in response. 

“Daddy’s gonna lay you on the bed now,” Ransom states. In one smooth movement, he cradles Marta in his arms and throws her body back onto the bed. She lands with a soft thunk against the pillows, eyes wide. 

Ransom climbs on top of her, where he is sure to press most of his weight down onto her hips. “Shit, I love having you underneath me.” He grabs Marta’s left leg and slings it over his own hips. She gets the idea and her right leg follows suit. Like previously, Ransom grinds down onto her. Marta mews when he picks up the pace, arching her back to press them closer. 

“I’m going to touch you, baby,” Ransom purrs. He pushes up, peeling his body from Marta’s, and sits on his haunches between her legs. He pushes one of his fingers between Marta’s lips, rubbing it around her mouth, and pulls it out with a slick pop after she starts sucking. He doesn’t want to get himself too excited about what else might feel good inside her hot, wet mouth. 

“Tell daddy if this hurts.” 

Marta nods and spreads her legs further. “I will, daddy.”

Hell yes, she’s playing into his kink. Ransom groans as another wave of pure pleasure sweeps down his body. Gently, he prods at her entrance so that only two knuckles are inside. He feels her clench around him, hears her whimper, and watches her close her eyes. She’s pretty wet, which means that she probably will only need minimal prep. And since Ransom isn’t about to force her to suck his dick, he needs to be inside her ASAP. 

For a few short moments, Ransom wiggles his finger inside of her until he feels her relax. After, he slips in to the third knuckle and starts to pump slowly. To help distract her from the pain, he starts to knead her breasts with his free hand. They may be small, but they’re soft. Ransom can appreciate that. 

Marta moans, “Ransom, daddy, more please.”

Ransom swallows thickly. “Of course, princess.” He slips in a second finger and continues his motions until Marta is lifting her hips up off the bed in pleasure. His own cock aches from lack of attention, so he decides he needs to move things along.

“You ready for my dick?” Ransom purrs. “You ready to feel me fill you up?” 

Marta’s eyes widen and she clenches around his fingers. “I think so.” 

Ransom withdraws his fingers and sticks them in his mouth to clean. He smiles when Marta mews at the sight. She just where he wants her, begging for him to give her release. 

That morning, he’d stowed a towel in his nightstand for this exact opportunity. He yanks it out and nudges it underneath Marta’s hips. He makes a show of taking out a condom, which causes Marta to visibly relax a bit. Like a true expert, he opens it with his teeth. Ranson turns his body slightly so that Marta can’t clearly see him put it on. The flimsy plastic rips with minimal effort so that his tip is pretty much fully exposed. Perfect. 

Now, Ransom can truly enjoy himself. He’s got this in the bag. 

“Let daddy know if it’s too much.” Ransom kisses Marta passionately before he aligns himself with her entrance. She gasps when Ransom presses his tip in, scrunches her face in pain. He waits for it to subside before pushing in further. 

He moans in the derived pleasure from the act. “Fuck, you feel amazing. So damn tight.”

“Glad you’re having a good time,” Marta replies through clenched teeth.

Ransom doesn’t care if it doesn’t feel good for her. She just has to endure the pain for a few minutes; Ransom can make himself come pretty quick if she lets him thurst. The process of entering her body moves slowly, him pausing every few centimeters to gauge Marta’s pain level. She doesn’t appear to be bleeding, which is an immense relief. Ransom didn’t want to play nurse. When he is fully inside of her, Ransom pauses. 

Marta’s face has visibly relaxed. Time to go.

Ransom withdraws almost completely before slowly pushing back in. Her body is so tight, squeezing around his cock, that he feels himself already oozing precome. It only takes a couple slow thrusts before Marta is definitely relaxed. 

“Daddy is going to fuck you good now, baby.”

And hell, he does. The pace picks up drastically, where their bodies are slamming together hard and fast. The air is filled with the sounds of skin on skin, Ransom’s groans, and Marta’s small moans. At some point, Ransom slips a pillow underneath Marta’s hips to improve the angle (and hopefully guide his come deeper into her body once he finishes). 

Suddenly, Ransom feels his orgasm coming up. He moves his hips even faster, leans down, and bites on Marta’s nipple as he spills his seed. She yelps in surprise and grabs his hair roughly. The pain intensifies Ransom’s climax rolls through. 

He collapses down onto Marta’s body when he’s finished, cock softening inside of her. For the only time in his life, he says a silent prayer that there’s a tiny fertilized egg inside of Marta. 

After, he doesn’t bother with helping Marta get off. (It’s getting late and Ransom wants to have time to burn down the police station before heading out to party.) Instead, he cleans her up, drives her back to the estate, and fixes the car that he’d broken earlier that day. She kisses him goodbye, clearly impressed that he was able to repair her shitty car, before driving home. 

—————————

A few weeks later, Ransom receives a letter in jail. It contains nothing but a picture of a positive pregnancy test. 

And Ransom leans back in his bunk, smiling. Hello, fortune. It’s nice to see you again.


	2. Chapter 2

A mouth, warm and hot, slides down Ransom’s cock. The euphoric feeling washing over his body helps him temporarily forget that he’s boxed in by walls of concrete. 

_Be good, his lawyer had warned after his sentencing. Lie low, get in shape, read a fucking book, just don’t think you’re above the damn law._

A hand reaches up Ransom’s chest, under his prison-issued top, so that fingers grip the hair found there. The slight pain brings a rolling wave of pleasure, so much that he arches his back to push his dick in deeper. 

_Ransom, baby, we’ll get you out,_ Linda had promised during her first visitation. _You won’t be here for more than six months._

A tongue swipes along the tip then trails down the length of Ransom’s member. The motion sends a shock wave up spine, causing him to moan obscenely and fist the scratchy blanket underneath his back. If he allows his eyes to flutter shut, he doesn’t even have to register that it’s a twig of man toying with his loins instead of a curvy, blonde woman. 

_You piece of shit,_ Walt had shouted over the phone when Ransom asked for him to transfer commissary money. _You’re a disgrace to this fucking family._

A pair of lips kisses Ransom’s balls before pressing a rough tongue to the soft skin just below them. His breathing picks up as instincts take control, pushing him almost to the brink of climax. It takes all of his practiced restraint not to shoot his load down the tight throat of the cockslut taking him now. 

_I did this to you,_ Richard had admitted just yesterday during visitation. _I should’ve spent more time with you, took you to baseball games, that kind of shit._

_Oh dad,_ Ransom thinks with a smirk on his face. _You have no fucking idea what you made._

With a smooth, swift motion, Ransom kicks the man in his bunk to the cement floor. His partner gasps in surprise and lands squarely on his ass in a most unattractive fashion. Terror fills his expression, knowing what Ransom has done to those who don’t please him. And damn, the sadist in Ransom fucking eats it up. Here, there’s no questioning who’s in charge. 

Ransom swings his own legs over the edge of the bed and positions his cock at the inmate’s eye level. In a voice husky with arousal, Ransom taunts, “You’re going to have to do better than that.” 

The man hesitantly takes Ransom back into his mouth without question. Ransom hadn’t finished yet, and everyone knows you better fucking finish Drysdale. With a roll of his hips, Ransom coaxes this man into a satisfactory rhythm.  
This man is new at the prison, that much is clear. He still has fat hanging from his limbs, a flush of red to his cheeks, and his hair still shines with outside shampoo. This piece of fresh meat, probably in for some pathetic misdemeanor, is trying to seek asylum with the big felons - the murderers, rapists, the crooks. He wants Ransom to protect him, to make him his bitch, and keep the bigger men from other blocks at bay. He wants Ransom to share drugs, his contraband cell phone, and to keep him fed with decent food. This is something that the Ransom has dealt with on a weekly basis, but it’s something that he’s never indulged in. Besides, these idiots are only good for one blowjob before they get clingy. 

Ransom doesn’t need a steady prison bitch or a metaphorical child to feed. After all, he isn’t gay. A hole’s a hole, a mouth’s a mouth. Ransom isn’t about to give up his sex life to the mercy of the law. 

“That’s a good boy,” Ransom coos, voice filled with mock affection, once the new inmate starts finding a rhythm. He loves having men at his feet, needing him, depending on him for protection. In a twisted way, he loves it almost as much as seeing them being beaten by the other felons on their block. “Make Daddy come.” 

This pathetic lump of a man starts picking up the pace. He desperately bounces his head up and down while Ransom looks down his nose at the skinny, acne-pocked, young twenty-something crouched on the floor. This kid is probably ten years his junior and will get eaten up fast by the big guys looking for a new come-dump. It’ll be a pleasure to know that Ransom was the one who introduced him to prison prostitution. 

Ransom holds off his threatening orgasm just to get the kid to panic. His eyes flicker nervously from Ransom’s face, to the open door, and back to staring at the patch of pubic hair around Ransom’s cock. His fear is palpable, thick and heavy, in the cell. Ransom knows he’s desperately wondering what will happen if he can’t get Daddy to finish, if it’ll mean getting shanked in the showers or if he’ll wake up with shit in his bed. Ransom loves it. 

Finally, just when the inmate is starting to sweat profusely, Ransom yanks his cock out of his mouth. With his right hand, he starts to tug at his own cock. With his left, he roughly grabs a fistful of this idiot’s hair. 

“I think a nice facial should help clear up that disgusting acne,” Ransom states to the confused and scared man between his knees. The man’s eyes widen, knowing fully well that he’s not satisfied Daddy Drysdale. The color drains from the inmate’s face. 

When Ransom comes, he is sure to shoot his seed all over the inmate’s face. He paints it across the man’s cheeks, chin, and mouth using the tip of his cock as a brush. For good measure, he slaps the man a couple of times with his member to bring some color back into his face. 

“And that’s your cue to leave,” Ransom grunts. He stands up, forcing the other to fall backwards to avoid being pushed. He tucks his softening dick back into his hideously orange pants. 

“B-but,” the man stutters. His own eyes betray him as he glances down at the obvious hard on pressing again his own pants. 

Ransom raises an eyebrow. “What? Did you think I’d get you off too?” He laughs, shaking his head. This lad truly is every bit of naive and dumb Ransom had thought he was. 

The man doesn’t reply, merely scrambles to his feet. He turns his body in the direction of the door, but doesn’t take a step forward or back. Without looking Ransom in the eye, he barely whispers, “Did I please you, daddy?”

“Get the fuck out, you piece of shit,” Ransom growls. “If you pleased me, I’d have finished down your throat.” 

The man practically runs out of the cell without looking back. Ransom loves the power trip it gives him, seeing how he can inflict that kind of terror over another. It allows him to play God, in a way. Here in federal prison, he gets to decide who eats, who showers in peace, and who lives out their sentence peacefully. If someone happens to get on his wrong side, Ransom has no problem figuring out a way to eliminate the problem. More recently, he’s been having issues with newbies trying to take his clients with the promises of discounted, higher quality drugs. To remedy this minor inconvenience, he’s planning on having one of the chefs slip some shit into tomorrow’s sloppy joe. 

Ransom saunters his way down the corridor, nodding at his fellow D block inmates as he passes them. It’s currently the rare and coveted social hour, where all of those locked up can freely walk around the block. Many men chose this time to play cards, engage in pointless group exercises, or visit the library. All of these choices are unappealing to Ransom, who usually chooses a good blowie and a chat with Matherson. The man is a corruptible CO who smuggles in Ransom’s supply of coke and contraband in exchange for sex during supervised showers and promises of cash when he’s released. 

“You got stuff for me?” Ransom says out of the side of his mouth as he leans against the wall a few feet from the CO. He crosses his arms over his chest and pretends to be interested in a game of dominos close by. 

Matherson abruptly grabs Ransom’s wrists and yanks them back behind his torso. “What did you just say to me, Drysdale?” he practically shouts, sending spit onto the back of Ransom’s neck.

Knowing exactly what’s going on, the inmate doesn’t struggle. He lets Martherson verbally berate him, calling him all sorts of names, and finally slip a baggie down the back of Ransom’s pants, just inside the waistband of his underwear. After a final shove that sends Ransom down to his knees on the floor, the exchange is over and successful. None of the other COs had given them a second glance, and all of his block mates are too busy with their stupid fucking games to see him crouched on the floor. 

Ransom stands and brushes dirt off of his pants. “Sweetheart,” he says over his shoulder to the CO. “I’ve got something to say to you.” He swivels on his heels to face the hulking, 200-lb man dressed in an ill-fitting uniform. He’s probably the most unpleasant man Ransom’s had the experience of fucking. 

“And what’s that, inmate?” Matherson cocks an eyebrow and smirks, challenging Ransom. He’ll get punished for that later, Ransom knows. He plans to slap that smug look off his face during his shower tomorrow morning.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” Ransom states matter-of-factly. “I need you to tell my baby mama, Marta Cabrera of 1029 Rogues Road, to come visit me.”

Matherson chuckles and is clearly amused at the thought of Ransom with a baby. It’s a very unlikely match. “Send her a letter, dumbass.”

“She won’t read it if I send it,” Ransom admits. He’s tried to reach out to Marta once before, just after she told him she was pregnant, but he never received a reply. He doesn’t necessarily blame her, but he needs to see Marta to convince her to let him into the child’s life. Ransom knows that if he has any chance of getting his hands on the money, he needs to make a relationship with his kid. 

“I wouldn’t either if I were her.”

Ransom rolls his eyes. “Real funny, Matherson. Denying a kid the chance to know his own damn daddy.” This guy is definitely going to be punished for his mouth and insubordance. Ransom stands tall and looks down his nose at the CO. “I’d do as I tell you, otherwise I might slip a note enlightening the warden about the drug situation in D block.” 

Matherson nervously chuckles, and Ransom knows that he’s won. “Tell her next Wednesday works best for me,” he snidely says before walking back up to his cell. 

——————— 

_12 weeks earlier…_

Marta walks into the kitchen, shaking profusely. She clutches the pregnancy tests - all four of them - tightly in her hand. There has to be a mistake, she can’t be pregnant. It was just one time, and Ransom had used a condom. As a nurse, she knows that the only absolute birth control is abstinence, but how could she fall into the 2% of those who experience condom failure? She mentally chastises herself for not helping Ransom with it; she might have been able to prevent this from happening.

She harbors an intense dislike of the Drysdale son after all that transpired. He played her like a piano, told her what she wanted to hear, and then took advantage of her inexperience. Sure, hindsight is 20/20 but Marta would do anything to stop herself from getting into the BMW that fateful afternoon. 

Marta neatly lines up the tests on a bed of paper towels to check and see if anything’s changed. Nothing did. One positive test might be a fluke, but four… not a chance. 

The normally cheerful and bright Thrombey kitchen now seems like it’s mocking her. Oh? You’re pregnant by the man who tried to kill you? That’s funny, it seemed to say. The blue dish towels hang limply from the oven door, where Marta had used them to wash just an hour ago. The air still smells faintly of maple syrup from the pancakes while the sunlight streams in through the full-length windows. A vase of fresh flowers adorn the small breakfast table, where Alice and her mom sit enjoying tea and a game of Scrabble. More than anything, Marta wants to go back two hours ago, where she ate sugary pancakes and drank strong tea, and had no idea of her impending fate. 

Marta pulls her cardigan tighter around her body, as if to block out the reality of the situation. Ransom had tricked her, she now knows. He’d used her like he uses everything else. How could she have been so fucking dumb? People like the Thrombey’s don’t change, she of all people should know that. A tear rolls down her cheek. 

Mama jumps up at the sight of Marta, now sobbing over the kitchen island. She catches sight of the array of tests lined on the table and of the offending pink cross in each of them. 

“Oh, querida,” Marta’s mother whispers. “I’ve got you.” She presses a kiss to her daughter’s temple and wraps her arms around her shuddering child’s shoulders. Like a good mother, she doesn’t let her disappointment or shock register in her voice. It’s smooth like silk, full of motherly warmth, and helps to comfort Marta. 

At this point, Alice joins the huddle of women with a gentle hand on her sister’s back. She does little to hide her small gasp when she notices the tests. After a speedy, silent recovery, Alice tightly hugs Marta and Mama. “It’ll be okay,” she whispers. “We will get through this.” 

Marta lets out a loud cry. She will forever be tied to the man who tried to kill the only male father figure she ever had. Their child will grow up without a father, just like Marta and Alice had. The baby will never know what it’s like to celebrate Father’s Day or to have two parents cheering at sporting events. That’s a million times more heartbreaking than Ransom’s betrayal. 

Somehow, Mama manages to guide Marta to the square breakfast table and presses a fresh cup of tea into her hand while the tests sit in the middle like a centerpiece. Marta’s hands shake as she tries to take a sip while head throbs from crying. She feels like she’s officially the world’s biggest, stupidest idiot. 

Mama places a delicate hand on Marta’s forearm. “Mi amor, who is the father?”

Marta bursts into a fresh set of tears. She can’t bear uttering the words that will inevitably bring her family’s shame. Her mother will think of her as one of the Thrombeys, tied to money and obsessed with fame. And to think that she’d slept with a man less than a week earlier attempted to kill his kind, wonderful grandfather. She’s so ashamed of her actions, knowing that she is about to bring a child into the world who’s father is such an awful man. 

Alice gets up from her chair to comfort her sister. “Please tell us so we can help you.”

Marta sniffles. She knows it’s going to eventually come out, and she would rather it be sooner than later. Certainly when the birth certificate is signed, she’ll have to put Ransom’s name. She could never deny her child the knowledge of its father, not like she had been. 

Without looking up from the rim of her cracked mug, Marta wavers in saying, “Ransom Drysdale.”

Her mama sharply inhales, but she thankfully doesn’t say anything. Her lips are pursed in the classic look of motherly disappointment. Alice falls into the nearest empty chair wordlessly. The tension is so thick that Marta can feel it in every pore. In all her life, there had never been a moment as intense as this one. 

“When did it happen?” Mama asks after a long moment, voice too cool to be anything but pure anger. “We have to know how far along you are.” 

Marta hates looking back on that evening, knowing that it would be her undoing. She tries not to think about how sweet and gentle Ransom had been; she knows now that it was all a facade. It hurts knowing he was merely putting on an act. “The night before he was arrested.”

Alice jumps up. “You slept with him after he tried to kill Harlan?” She clutches her head, fingers woven into her unruly hair. “You fucked a murderer.” 

“Not helping!” Mama practically shouts. “Sit the hell down.”

Marta continues sobbing, snot all over her face and eyes dry. What happens next will define the remainder of her pregnancy and single motherhood: Mama takes Marta’s hand and Alice takes the other. 

“We will do this together,” Mama promises, and Marta believes her with her entire heart.

——————— 

Three months later, Mama and Alice became Marta’s support system. They went with her to every appointment, they bought the baby’s first clothes together, and Alice even held back Marta’s hair as she vomited into one of Harlan’s imported vases one fateful morning. They became an inseparable team.

Ransom’s name is never mentioned. They don’t discuss the child’s father, nor do they plan on telling Linda and Richard. Mama hadn’t even wanted Marta to tell Ransom, but after listening to her woes about her own absent father, she came around. At the time, Marta knew she couldn’t stomach a physical visitation or even a phone call; she opted for the most painless option in telling her former lover. A simple picture, no signature, is all he will get. 

Marta doesn’t want anything to do with the malicious, predatory man who impregnated her. But for the sake of their child, she finds herself now considering a visitation. There are things they need to discuss, such as furlough for Ransom to attend the birth. Marta needs to know how much of a presence Ransom can have in the baby’s life, and whether she should press for child support or leave options open for custody (even though she is vehemently opposed to allowing Ransom time alone with their child, she cannot deny him supervised visits). Her heart is torn between allowing her baby a father, which she had never known, or protecting him from the dark man she knows Ransom is. 

Her mother agrees to accompany her to visit Ransom after a sweaty, overweight man practically begged Marta to take the trip. 

And so, now Marta finds herself taking a seat in a hard, plastic, filthy seat on one side of an equally dirty pane of glass. Mama stands behind her a respectful few feet away, but she’s close enough that Marta doesn’t feel she’s alone. 

A door to the far left of the room, on the other side of the glass opens, and an uniformed officer escorts Ransom over to Marta. His beard has grown in, his hair unruly, and his skin clings to new muscle. All fat, even in his face, seems to have melted away. Previously, Marta had never realized how sharp his cheekbones could be. In ways, he looks unrecognizable from the designer-clothed and pristinely kept man who was convicted of first degree murder, attempted murder, and arson. 

Ransom slips into his seat and takes a grimy phone from the hook. He motions for Marta to do the same, which she hesitantly does. 

“Damn,” Ransom says, leaning back in his chair. “Look what I did to you.” His eyes rake over her torso, resting briefly on her budding bump, before meeting her eyes. “Pregnancy looks fucking sexy on you.” 

Marta moves her free arm to cover herself. “Ransom, that’s not why I’m here.” 

“Right,” he replies. “I want the baby. I want visitation every week, and I want you to sign on my furlough request to be at the birth. Is that gucci?” 

Marta hesitates. Even dressed in a prison uniform, he looks malicious. That scares Marta more than anything. She could never trust him with a baby. 

Ransom appears to notice this, and continues with saying, “You wouldn’t want our baby to not know it’s father, would you? Not like you, right?”

Marta suddenly wishes she had a lawyer present.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of piss play at the end.

Marta stumbles out of the prison twenty agonizing minutes later. Her mind swirls with too many thoughts, leaving her feeling lightheaded and wobbly on her feet. She grips onto a nearby gate to steady herself, and Mama rushes to her side. Her touch is grounding, but Marta still feels like she’s trapped in a nightmare. 

Men catcall her from the rec yard, many shouting obscene things in Spanish that go undetected by the guards. Another asks her to bring him some meth next time she visits. Briefly, she wonders if any of them know Ransom or if he’s on his way out there now to exercise. He certainly looked like he’d been working out - or that might be from lack of nutritious food. Or he’s on cocaine, she absently thinks. Ransom always had a predisposition to party drugs.

“Yo!” a man shouts from the fence. “You Drysdale’s girl?” 

Marta whips her head around, sending a wave of movement-induced nausea through her body. The owner of the voice stands apart from the few Hispanic men. He’s a thin, knobby man with a face full of acne and evidence of fat still hanging from his bones. In many ways, he’s the opposite of Ransom. 

Mama strategically places herself so that Marta can’t see the group of jumpsuited men thirty feet away or the younger man standing just apart from them. “Let’s go, mi amor.”

Her mother tries to guide Marta away, towards the car. The last thing she needs is to be wound tighter into Ransom’s sticky web. The more she stays away from all aspects of him, the easier and less tangled her life will be. But before they can take three steps, the man shouts again. This time with more urgency than previously. 

“He’s not who you think he is!” he desperately calls. “He’s selling! He’s - “

Marta breaks away from her mother, her attention now peaking. If Ransom is involved with drugs, she needs to know. Again, as a decent human being she wants to know if the man fathering her child is endangering himself or others. Her mind is clear as she takes several steps forward, towards the gate. The wellbeing of Ransom outweighs the risks of engaging with an inmate. “Tell me more.”

The kid looks thrilled to get the chance to speak to someone. His eyes are as round as saucers and he checks over his shoulder to survey the area. The Hispanic men have wandered away, and the guards look occupied across the yard. Turning his attention back to Marta, he says “He’s called Daddy in here. He sells drugs - coke and weed - and he’s like the fucking mafia. I swear, every day there’s another man getting the shit beat out of him while Daddy watches.”

“How’s he getting the drugs in?” Marta asks. She’s trying to be as objective as possible. Her emotions cannot get the best of her. There is no room for her feelings right now. 

The kid shrugs. “No idea. The best bet is through a guard.” 

Marta nods. Fair enough. “Thank you for your time. Please be safe.” She turns away to signal the end of the conversation. She’s heard enough to incriminate Ransom, but more importantly she has enough to convince herself to keep the baby out of his grasp. After all, she never knew her father and turned out okay. 

Just as she takes a step back towards Mama, the boy calls for her again. 

“He’s fucking at least three different men regularly, and others once or twice before dumping them. Just thought you ought to know.”

Marta sharply inhales without turning round. Of course, Ransom couldn’t remain celibate in prison; he’d likely grown too used to gratuous sex on the outside to surivive without it. It does hurt on some deep, hidden level that she isn’t the last person he slept with. Part of her likes the illusion that the beautiful party boy could fall in love with the quiet nurse. 

A sharp, cold early-March wind snaps her back to her reality and nods in reply. Marta wraps her jacket closer around her body as she allows her mother to escort her towards the car. To avoid the questions from Mama, she puts on the tired, expectant mother facade before she takes another step. She needs time to digest her conversation with Ransom and the mysterious informant before she can relay it to her family. Or the lawyer. 

She hates how Ransom has this unexplained, profound effect on her, how he can make her mind spin and pulse quicken. He’s a murderer, one with little regard for human life, filled to the brim with selfishness. What miniscule percentages of him left over appears to be concerned with sex, drugs, and other methods of self-fulfillment. How could she have possibly thought he might have harbored a secret love for her? Stupid, naive, gullible. 

But she can remember his loving touch, his gentle lovemaking, and wonders if that could possibly be faked?

No. He’s a sociopath; he doesn’t have the pleasure of emotions. He sensed that’s what she needed and acted upon it, like a lion stalks the lamb. He’s continuing to sleep with the criminals he’s locked up with; he is not saving himself for Marta. For the upteenth time, she considers the possibility of cutting Ransom completely out of the baby’s life, but she knows full well that Ransom could just manipulate her like putty otherwise. 

But for just a second, as they were discussing baby names, it felt like they were two ordinary parents. It hurts her to know that it wouldn’t be a reality for the baby. And she fucking hates herself for wondering if she should give Ransom another chance, that they might be able to create the two-parent household she’d dreamed about. If anything, that tells her how deft he is in the art of manipulation. 

Marta shakes the thought away. This is not how this should be going. She will not allow herself to put the baby at risk, especially knowing the metaphorical blood soaking Ransom’s hands. Mentally, Marta notes to speak to the lawyer about refusing child support and monthly, supervised visitations. Ransom won’t get a moment of alone time with the baby, but Marta will not refuse him the right to see his baby. She promises herself that Ransom will play nothing more than a fraction of a fatherly role, only what is necessary and beneficial for the baby. The lawyer can help make sure of that. 

And later that week, Marta’s expensive and intimidating lawyer drafts up a copy of the custody document. 

\-----------------------------------------------

Three weeks later, the Cabrera women pile into Alice’s new sedan (an early grad gift from Marta) to depart for a very exciting doctor’s appointment. There hasn’t been another visit to Ransom, and that solidifies the trio’s dedication to the unborn child. They have established themselves as the support system, the only ones who will care for the baby. Marta has never been more thankful for these strong women in her life. Together, they will raise the child as one. 

Unlike the sterile feeling of the rest of the hospital, the exam room feels homey and welcoming. It’s decorated in pink and blue, which only adds to the suspense of the appointment, and has two cushy, overstuffed chairs and a black and white collage of babies. Someday, Marta hopes that her baby will be among them, and implores how many other mothers have sat on this table to learn the first bit of personal information about their baby. Today is Marta’s 20 week scan - and the coveted gender reveal. She relishes in the pure excitement radiating from each of the women. 

Mama clutches Marta’s hand tightly. She places a quick kiss on Marta’s temple before smoothing her hair back from her forehead. “So? What’s your guess?”

Marta places her hand on her bulging stomach. It seems to grow six inches with every passing day, leaving angry stretch marks in its path. Lifting her head up from the examination table to peer down, she says, “Baby, if you are a boy, kick me.”

She pauses, allowing time for the baby to kick. After a moment, there is no movement, and Marta’s mind is convinced. “A girl,” Marta confidently concludes. “She’s a girl. No kick.” 

Alice snorts from her perch nearby. She has a fashion magazine in her hands and a thick wad of bubblegum in her mouth. “Five bucks says she’s wrong.”

“You’re on.”

Mama shakes her head. “I think it’s definitely a boy -”

“Not these wives tales again, Mama,” Alice interjects, punctuating with an eye roll and a popped bubble. Mama swears by the “tried-and-true” methods of gender identification passed down from her grandmother, despite the fact that they incorrectly predicted Marta’s cousin’s baby last year. 

Ignoring her, Mama continues, “You’ve been so sick. That’s a sure sign of a baby boy. Also, you craved watermelon last week.”

Marta chuckles. In all honesty, she couldn’t care less about the gender. Like most mothers, she prays for a healthy baby and an easy delivery, free from drama and vaginal tearing. But she does look forward to dressing a daughter in little sundresses… Ransom wants a son; he’d mentioned it in his last phone call. Marta guesses that’s probably so he has a stronger excuse to be in the baby’s life; it’s been proven that the most important figure in a child’s early life is their same-gender parent. For traditional families, of course. 

Ransom calls her about twice a week from a smuggled contraband cell phone. How he does it without getting caught, Marta doesn’t know. However, she likes knowing that what they say is private. It’s uneasy knowing that some mysterious officer might listen to her describe her pregnancy in all its intimate details. But it does open up questions about what other illegal things Ransom might be up to, and it further confirms that he doesn’t feel that the law does not apply to him. She tries not to think about what the pock-marked boy said in the yard last time she visited. 

Most of the time, they talk about the baby. Ransom likes to know the outcomes from her scans, any updates on her symptoms, and how the nursery is coming together. But sometimes, Ransom asks about her mother or sister. He asks about life on the outside, about how the redecorating is going at the estate, or what book she’s reading. Sometimes, it feels like an ordinary conversation. That’s what scares her the most, thinking that she could be tricked into believing Ransom is the good guy. The worst part is that Marta so wants to believe he is. Deep down, she knows she’ll always try to find the good in him. She will always try to counteract the horrible things he’s done with the same, itty bitty parts of him that are promising. However, with each call, she lets herself be pitifully molded in his palms. She knowingly allows Ransom to speak to her as if they’re a couple excitedly waiting for a planned child and not two virtual strangers who spent one night together. Or where one selfish man took advantage of a naive woman. 

Her new therapist says it’s her coping mechanism, this delusion about Ransom. The forty-year-old, greying man tells her that she goes back to believing the good in her child’s father because she isn’t ready to face the truth. He tells her that Ransom is a predator and he’s currently hunting his prey - Marta and their child. Marta shakes the thoughts from her head; she wants this moment to be full of happiness and not memories of the baby’s conception. 

The tech walks in - a jaunty, smiling woman of her mid-thirties - and shakes Marta’s hand. Her excited chatter is lost on Marta, who now only feels a strange mixture of longing, dread, and repulsion for her baby’s father. The icy gel on her bare stomach pulls her away from her thoughts. 

“So, gender today?” the tech asks. 

Marta nods and smiles, slipping back into her happy, expecting-mother facade. “Yes, please.”

“Let’s just check the usuals first, just to make sure baby is doing great.” 

The wand slides all over Marta’s tummy as the nurse calls out the measurements of the baby’s limbs, listens to the gentle thump of the heartbeat, and finally focuses on the lower half of the child. “All looks nice and healthy. Looks like a petite little one, but healthy nonetheless.”

Mama chuckles, nudging Marta gently. “You were the tiniest baby in the hospital.”

“Well,” the tech replies, “Like mother, like daughter.” 

“It’s a girl!” Mama exclaims and squeezes Marta’s hand. “Three generations of short Cabrera women!”

Marta’s smile stretches from ear to ear as a tear trickled down her cheek. A sweet baby girl. Images of frilly dresses, tea parties, and princess crowns flash in her mind. She imagines a pink and green nursery, butterflies and flowers decorating the walls, and cute outfits hanging in the closet. Mother-daughter dates, matching headbands, and shared celebrity crushes loom brightly in the future. This is everything Marta has wanted. 

Alice slaps five bucks on Marta’s chest, but she’s smiling like Marta’s never seen before. “I guess mother knows best, but I can’t wait to meet my niece!” 

Marta laughs. “I’m sure she can’t wait to meet you too, Auntie Alice.” 

Her mind once again wanders over to Ransom, who’s probably anxiously waiting for her phone call. Marta tries to push away the thoughts, tries to convince herself he doesn’t care. The more she tries to ignore it, the stronger they are. Just like every other instance, she gives in to her imaginary Ransom. To the tech, Marta asks, “Could I have a picture? For the dad?”

Alice rolls her eyes. “Why you’re letting him into her life, I’ll never understand.” 

Mama sharply inhales. She’s made her stance on the matter very clear; she doesn't want the baby to be fatherless. But she wants the man at a distance, only involved after the child can consent. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Alice disagrees. In an apparent way to support her daughter, Mama asks, “Can you be sure to mark the gender for him, too?”

Alice huffs, defeated, and returns back to her chair. 

“We offer semi-personalized photo-cards,” the tech explains as she moves the wand across Marta’s stomach. “You can make it special for him too.”

Marta nods, but is silent as the tech takes the pictures. If she keeps the baby from Ransom, her daughter will go through the same perils that she did as a child. And maybe having a daughter will change Ransom? Maybe it’ll help him to see and respect women, knowing his daughter will grow up into one? Despite the evidence overwise, she feels she has to be hopeful. Imaginary Ransom wants to play a positive role in his daughter’s life. 

After cleaning up the chilly gel, the tech hands Marta a clipboard and pen. “It’s so I can include a personalized message for your pictures,” she explains, smiling. Marta wonders if she’s picked up on the mutual dislike of her baby daddy yet. 

Marta obediently fills out the information and hands it back. Moments later, the tech returns. She hands Marta a beautifully decorated, pink card with the picture nestled inside. The message on the opposite side reads:

Hi DADDY! 

I can’t wait to meet you this SUMMER. I love you already! 

Love, your baby GIRL, BABY DRYSDALE 

Beside her, Mama’s face tightens. “Mi amor, why does it say Drysdale?”

“It’s Ransom’s last name,” Marta replies as she sits up. Even though she’s only twenty weeks, her large stomach causes her to have the most ungraceful movements, and she knocks away the wheeled cart containing the tech’s equipment. 

Alice suddenly perks up. “You’re giving her the murdering bastard’s last name? Damn, Marta. You’re whipped.”

The tech awkwardly shuffles away, pushing the offending cart far from the expectant mother, and Marta is suddenly very embarrassed. What had possessed her to write that down? To allow for her child to share the name of her father, even on an insignificant gender announcement? Oh, it was that annoying, pitiful side of her that wants the baby to feel what it’s like to have a dad. It’s the side of her that’s trying to live vicariously through her daughter. The side that is unable to connect Ransom with murder. 

“Nothing is final yet,” Marta says as she forces herself up. 

\-----------------------------------------------

After an endless amount of rings, Ransom breathlessly answers, “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hi,” Marta replies, apprehensive. She always feels this combination of competing emotions when she hears this smooth, silky voice. Anxiety is always the first to cross the finish line, followed by hope, and trailed by weak excitement. It’s times like these where she’s forced to accept the real Ransom, in all his glory. He controls the situation, and he fucking knows it. “Is this a bad time or can we chat?” 

Ransom takes a moment to reply, which is filled with him taking deep breaths in an apparent effort to calm them. “No, I’m just trying to catch my breath. I just fucked someone, and you know how much exertion I put into that.”

Marta feels her face heat up. She can’t help the feeling of jealousy that washes over her. Granted, she and Ransom are not exclusive - and Marta truly doesn’t want to be - but the thought of him with another person is revolting. He’s a father-to-be for fuck’s sake! 

She also isn’t a huge fan of being reminded of their night together. It had been a low point in her life, thinking that someone like Ransom could ever love her. Marta knows she’s better than the desperate, scared girl that foolishly let Ransom lead her to bed. “Oh.”

“Marta, baby,” Ransom sighs, incredibly nonchalant. “I’ve a very sex-driven man. You couldn’t expect me to stop being damn horny in prison.”

“N-no, you’re right.” Marta clears her throat as she attempts to dismiss the topic from the conversation. “Well, I have a picture for you. Of the baby.”

“Yeah?” Ransom replies. “Girl or boy?”

Marta smiles and touches a hand to her tummy. She affectionately rubs it in the way that only pregnant women seem to do. “You really want to know?”

Ransom chuckles. “Why? Is it actually some kind of sexless alien? Of fucking course I want to know that shit.”

“It’s a little girl, Ransom,” Marta says. She loves hearing it said aloud. It makes it feel more real and so, so much more exciting. “We’re having a daughter.” 

“Well, damn,” Ransom exclaims happily. “A little princess for us to spoil.”

Us? He’s not getting out of jail anytime soon. Marta knows she’ll end up caring for the baby, and she wouldn't have it any other way. But again… It would be nice to give her daughter the complete family unit that she didn’t have growing up. In the imaginative sense, of course. And again, imaginary Ransom triumphs over real Ransom. 

“I’ll send you the picture tomorrow,” Marta promises. She already has it sealed and stamped; the postman just needs to pick it up. Secretly, she likes the idea of Ransom hanging up the picture on the underside of his cellmate's bunk. Apparently, that’s the only place he can have it up with being confiscated. He told her a few weeks ago that he’s kept all of the baby’s ultrasound pictures tucked neatly up in there. In Marta’s hopeful mind, she pretends Ransom is as excited about the baby as she is. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Ransom interjects her daydreaming. Marta can hear shouting in the background, thus indicating it too risky to keep chatting. “I gotta go. Talk to you tomorrow.”

The line goes dead. 

\-----------------------------------------------

Ransom Drysdale (cell): Turn in the furlough papers tomorrow when you visit me.

Marta Cabrera (cell): Okay.

Ransom Drysdale (cell): Make sure you request a private visit. I haven’t gotten a shot in weeks. They should let me see you. 

Marta Cabrera (cell): Why would I do that?

Ransom Drysdale (cell): I want to talk to the baby. She needs to hear my voice. It’s apparently important for her development or some shit. 

Marta Cabrera (cell): My mother will be in the room, along with at least two officers. 

Ransom Drysdale (cell): Don’t trust me?

Marta Cabrera (cell): No. 

Ransom Drysdale (cell): Ditch your mom, let me pay off the officers, and we can practice making baby 2. 

Marta Cabrera (cell): I don’t think so. 

Ransom Drysdale (cell): Fair enough. I’ll just stick my cock down my cellmate’s throat instead. 

Ransom Drysdale (cell): I’ll fuck you real good when on furlough. Induce labor for you. Your mom can even watch just to make sure I don’t hurt you. 

Ransom Drysdale (cell): If you want, I’ll even let you handcuff me to the bed for your safety. 

Ransom Drysdale (cell): God, I fucking want you Marta. I need to come in a pussy again. 

Ransom Drysdale (cell): Look how hard you make me, (Image Attached)

Ransom Drysdale (cell): Send me your tits. 

Marta Cabrera (cell): You’re a pig. 

Ransom Drysdale (cell): Tell me more. Tell Daddy that he’s a piece of shit. 

Marta Cabrera (cell): Daddy, I wish I never let you fuck me. I wish you corrupted, sick, asshole never came into my life.

Ransom Drysdale (cell): God, Daddy’s so hard for you. 

Marta Cabrera (cell): Well, then maybe Daddy should go slam his nether regions in the cell door so he can’t impregnate another girl.

Ransom Drysdale (cell): You’re going to be begging for my cock when you’re days over your due date. When that day arrives, I’m going to fuck you the way I want. 

Ransom Drysdale (cell): I’m going to slap your ass until it’s red. I’ll fuck your tits and your pretty mouth. You’ll scream for Daddy and I’ll suck on your nipples as you come on my cock. I’ll finish deep in your pussy and then use my piss to clean it up. 

Marta Cabrera (cell): Kinky. 

Ransom Drysdale (cell): You just fucking wait, princess.


End file.
